Graph

That wasn't me saying 'graph', as in thing with axis you draw a lot in Physics for no reason. That was an annoyed sound of anger.
WHY IS EVERYBODY SO HAPPY NOW? There is nothing to be happy about. At all. Exams are coming up, which means that the weeks will be filled with:

a: Revising
b: Feeling guilty about not revising enough
c: Panic attacks
d: Practise papers

Argh. I hate exams, so damn much. Especially Science exams, as they are so... damn... pointless. Who gives a flying fuck about transformers? Am I going to be an electrician when I grow up? No. I am going to be King of the World, so really, the only test I actually NEED to do is gonna be a blood test, just to make sure I am who I say I am. And I will pass the blood test, because I rule at everything.
And I don't mean to be big headed (I am famed across the world for my modesty) but I'm getting all A*s whatever happens. So why do I have to start revising NOW? There are like 50 days till the exams. Shit, how much do they want us to do? Well, according to Mr F, 3 hours a day, every day, for the entire Easter Holidays at least. Ahem. I actually choked on my tongue when I heard that.

Mr F: ... bla bla bla... 3 hours a day all holidays...
Me: *Splutter, choke, argh* What the FUCK?

So far, I am 43% through the holidays, and I have done a total of 0 days, 0 minutes, and 23 seconds of revision. And it wasn't proper revision, really. ACTUALLY WAIT. I spent 6.5 days in France. If I'm awake for an average of 15 hours a day, SURELY that counts for a substantial amount of revision. Lets work this out, using the miracles of mathematics:
6.5 x 15 hours of French revision in France = 97.5 hours
23 x 3 hours of normal revision I would have done if I'd followed the school's revision plan = 69
AHA. So, actually, I have done 141% of the required revision already. So, uh, screw you. I worked all that out on a calculator that was missing the middle two digits, too. So some of the numbers might be wrong. Ah, screw it, I'm failing AS Maths anyway. Aww, man. I just remembered.
Here's the homework I haven't done:

A Decision maths paper
A massive fucking pile of Biology revision for a test
One, possibly two, physics paper
A Biology report about cloning
OH SHIT. A core maths paper. Fucked I am.
And, of course, the requisite revision for all the other subjects.

I AM NUTTED. Quite literally.

I have to go to fuckinggayarseboobs AMSTERDAM. Yes, Amsterdam. Home of marijuana (which carrys threat of expulsion), weird niche videos (women eating bananas for three hours, people missing the toilet, people sticking hamsters up various orifices, dogs/sheep/welshmen getting thoroughly surprised, people drilling nails into each other's penises, high voltage nipples rings, and lycra-wearing midgets spraying salad cream and urine on each other before dressing up in leather japanese schoolgirl uniforms and whipping donkeys), and some godforsaken rowing lake. Shiiit. Here's a picture of the lake in question:



Looks nice, eh? WELL YOU ARE WRONG. WRONG I SAY. I bet the Titanic looked nice, but then the dipshit sailor guy had to crash into Frosty the Snowman, totally bollocking up the plan. Personally, I would have been content to look at Kate Winslet's boobs for the 12 hours that film lasted, but oh well. C'est la vie. But this lake, hmm. Well, better than the one at Ghent. Although, technically ANYTHING was better than the lake at Ghent. The lake at Ghent was basically a dirty puddle of piss in the middle of a giant stone urinal, filled with dead fish, Belgian pikeys, a funfair, and lots of pissed off boaties. We lived in wooden unheated shacks, got huge blisters and waged a bitter war of hate against the world. Hmmph. ANYTHING is better than Ghent. I dunno about this Hazeliwinkel, or whatever its called, but it looks a lot like Sleepy Hollow to me. And all those trees mean that the water is forever gonna be filled with bits of fuckin' wood. Why did God create wood? It just floats there and fucks me up when I'm rowing. Well, I can't row that well anyway, but the wood is no help. Wanker.

For those who don't know, here is where Amsterdam is on a map:



Yep. In Amsterdamn (cunning, eh), I am basically, going to do the following:
Row
Row
Row my boat
Gently down the stream
Row
Cry
Grow blisters (YOU GET SUCH HUGE BLISTERS... just imagine rubbing your hand against a bit of wet rubber coated wood for a week, sweating and wearing lycra... actually, that's what the average trip to Amsterdam is like, really. BADABING BADABOOM)
Want to go home
Row
It is going to be SHITMONKEYS. Arghhhhhh. I do not like rowing one bit. Do you know how EASY my life would be without rowing? Very easy, that's how easy. It would actually be a total doss.

So, those are my main reasons why I'm depressed. Actually, there's some other stuff. I am feeling a touch guilty at my many sins. Here is my list of apologies to various people:

Fati: My dearest Fati is upset. And that makes me annoyed, as Fati should always be cheery, and I feel that it might be partially my fault. I am sorry I couldn't go to the cinema today, but my mother forced me to stay home and revise. If if makes you feel any better, I am not planning on doing any revision (after all, with all the stuff I've already done, all 97.5 hours of it, I don't want to overstretch myself). CHEER UP, dear. Your bunny picture was absolutly brilliant. Have an Oreo. Also, your piece of magic cardboard is on my desk, ready for me to present it magically to you.
Cassandra: I am sorry, you cunt, for being so useless. I'm not sure what at, but apparently, I am. If you were expecting a long night of passion from me, uh, yeah, sorry. I will give you your postcards when I see you next. Also, I will 'storm your barricades', as a wise man (me) once said. Haha, who am I kidding... I'm a human fridge. I AM COLD. Where is my sexy hoodie? ps: I am amazing at taking off bras. Not really. Who the hell invented bra straps? Houdini? Me and Paul spent all of yesterday attempting to take off bras with one hand. Paul was far better than me but, lets face it, its because his hands are small and girlish, and he has had much more practise at doing at it at home, in front of a mirror.
Paul: I am sorry for insulting you in the previous apology. You are lovely, really. And your hair is nice. Snigger. Also, sorry for calling you a twat in about eighteen sentences.
Marios: On the subject of stupid haircuts, I have an apology for Marios. Sorry, Marios for pretending to be Cassie and asking you to show us your nipples on webcam last night. You dance in a very nice way. Snigger. Also, sorry for putting laxatives in your milk-bottles. You should be feeling the effects about... now. Whoops. Sorry.
Kris: Sorry for saying that you were easy. But, come on, you are. Just give you a shiny stone and you are dazzled and impressed for twenty minutes. You are the human equivalent of a japanese anime schoolgirl, and that's why I love you. Not literally, of course, Joe. Don't hurt me. Anyway, Kris already married Paul. Not my fault. Actually, it is, as I was the minister, because Paul thinks I'm jewish. I AM NOT JEWISH, you twat.
Roxy: I'm not really sorry for wedgying you, but I just felt like telling everyone: I GAVE ROXY A WEDGIE. She was hopping about and screaming like the best orgasm she'd ever had (which was, bizarrely, when she first laid eyes on me), and then spent the rest of the day spinning about to stop me getting near her underwear.
Georgie: She doesn't read this because she doesn't like me. Technically, she hates me. She doesn't want me to come to her party. In fact, she actively banned me from going; I don't know why. Well, I do. I said she looked like James Zaremba. AND SHE DOES. They have a similar facial structure. Why can't she see that it wasn't an insult, just a statement? Screw it. Well, I'll just do what I always do when somebody takes one of my statements the wrong way and gets offended. I'm just going to have to keep saying it.

Therefore, this is the first meeting of the Georgie looks like Zaremba club, in which we say that Georgie looks like Zaremba. (I am currently looking for members, so if anyone feels like joining, just contact me for info.)

This is what Georgie and Zaremba looked like as children:



See? THEY ARE IDENTICAL. I rest my motherfuckin' case.
Whoops, this was meant to be an apology. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not apologising, James.

What was Hitlers cow called? Moosilini!